


we need a little sunshine

by monkkeyslut



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Descriptions of giving birth, Established Relationship, F/M, Kid Fic, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkkeyslut/pseuds/monkkeyslut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is not a baby-person. Or really, a person who likes people who are under twelve. They are sticky, and loud, and rude. Clarke wants nothing to do with them. There are at least a hundred other people her age who can get to repopulating their people, thanks.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Clarke's luck stinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we need a little sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamesjoyce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesjoyce/gifts).



> Written for Dicey because it's her birthday and as I've said a thousand times before, I love her.   
> Also, this was mostly written before last night's heart-wrenching finale, so that hasn't happened in this fic.

“Tell me,” Clarke says, slowly, so Bellamy’s sleep-soft mind can comprehend, “why I haven’t started my period.”

Bellamy looks up, eyes bleary and mouth open. There is drool on _her_ pillow from that stupid mouth, and the tent is pretty much dark. Clarke is not impressed. “Well?”

“Why the fuck would I know?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, feeling very annoyed. She hasn’t been able to sleep the past few days because all she can think about is that she’s twenty-three and she’s never missed or had a late period in her life thus far. And any reason why she may be late and/or missing her period is...well she really doesn’t want to think about it, because she might throw up. On Bellamy, the probably cause for all of this. “Well, you have sex with me, so.”

“Uh,” Bellamy says, sitting up slightly. She can see his chest from her position over the small pot they have for peeing in. Her legs have begun to shake from squatting. “You’re the doctor.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and pulls up her underwear, making her way toward the bed. She’s probably got another solid hour of tossing and turning before she has to get up. “Thanks, asshole.”

“Can you tell me why you’re awake at dick o’clock in the morning?” Bellamy huffs, lowering himself back down as she crawls in beside him. He slings an arm over her waist, accidentally bumping her breasts, which are sore. She _must_ be starting her period soon.

Grumbling, Clarke shifts so she’s more comfortable.

\--

Three days later, she still hasn’t had her period, and Octavia lands a punch right on her boob.

“Ow,” Clarke snaps, pressing her hands to her sore breast. “What the hell Octavia!?”

The girl looks shocked that it actually hurt. “Really?”

The soreness makes Clarke bite her lip, and she is actually shocked that it hurts this much. She’s been punched in and around the boob before, but it’s never hurt this much before, not even while she’s on her period. The only thing she can think of is when Lydia got knocked up last spring and her boobs ached for like the first two months. But that can’t be the reason Clarke’s in pain, because she and Bellamy--

“Fuck _right off,”_ Clarke yells, whipping her head around for Bellamy, but she can’t find him, so she turns back to Octavia, who looks annoyed now, arms crossed over her chest. “Tell your brother to come and find me when you see him. Tell him to bring a gun so I can kill him.”

\--

When she and Bellamy had first started having sex, they’d been really careful. Clarke didn’t have any sort of contraception, but the Grounders had a recipe that they used after having sex that removed any chance of the female getting pregnant. The tea tasted like crap, but Clarke drank it almost religiously. Bellamy usually pulled out, but Clarke wasn’t looking to get pregnant any time soon (or in the future, really).

So she should have known when she didn’t started her period that first day that she was pregnant. Especially since she was pretty sure that when she and Bellamy had sex the night Octavia was officially deemed a Grounder Warrior, with a huge ceremony and party with several other seconds, Bellamy didn’t pull out, and she didn’t drink any tea the next morning.

This is what they got for having sex while fucked up on Grounder alcohol.

Clarke is pacing when Bellamy slips into their tent, cheeks red from the sun and hair sweaty from helping the others put up a new tent. He looks concerned. Clarke wonders how he’ll look when she tells him.

“What’s up?” He asks, standing there with his hands on his hips and his shirt partially undone. He probably thinks he looks so cool. “Princess? Are you okay?”

She realizes that she probably looks constipated, since she’s standing there with her lips pursed and her hands clenched tightly together over her stomach. They haven’t talked about this. Kids. Them. It’s _weird_ that this is how they’re going to talk about it. Or _not_ talk about it; Clarke can see him reacting _really well_ or _really bad_. Crap.

His hands find themselves on her shoulders, and his voice is oddly serious when he says, “Clarke, talk to me.”

“I’m pregnant,” she slumps, not meeting his eyes. “Fucker,” she adds for good measure, because it’s partially his fault.

Bellamy’s hands tighten on her shoulders briefly, and Clarke chances a look up at his face. He’s fucking _beaming._

“Really?” He asks, voice tight but trying not to be tight. Clarke feels sick.

“Yup.”

Bellamy crushes her to him, and Clarke wonders what the fuck they’re gonna do.

\--

“What do you mean?” Lexa asks, eyebrow rising. She’s lounging across Clarke’s bed while Clarke paces, looking very unlike the Commander she first met. “It’s a child. Children are supposed to bring joy.”

“Yeah, well,” Clarke shrugs, pushing her hands through her hair. She feels like crap. “We’re not, like, prepared. Or whatever. I mean I’m twenty-three. I’m a leader of my own group since we parted from Camp Jaha. We don’t have time for this, like even at all.”

Lexa purses her lips. Clarke scowls. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re judging me. Why do you think you’re the one I went to about this?”

“I’m touched.”

“Yeah, me too,” Clarke growls, sitting down beside Lexa. “I’m so fucked. I don’t even like kids.”

The bed shakes as Lexa laughs, falling gracefully onto her back. “You’re funny, Clarke. I’m sure you will be a great mother.”

“We’ll see,” Clarke snaps, pressing a hand to her stomach.

\--

Clarke is not a baby-person. Or really, a person who likes people who are under twelve. It isn’t their fault, and it certainly isn’t _hers_ , because Clarke has seen the video of the live birth. Clarke has been present during a live birth, and she has seen things. She has also volunteered taking care of kids with Wells and got gum in her hair for her trouble, so.

They are sticky, and loud, and _rude_ and don’t do anything you ask, not even when you bribe them. Clarke wants nothing to do with them. There are at _least_ a hundred other people her age who can get to repopulating their people, thanks.

( _“Hey Bell, how about I have a kid too and our kids can be best friends?”_

_“Octavia, enough.”)_

So no, Clarke is not particularly happy with this. She was happy puttering around the camp and fixing people and fixing things. She was happy ordering people around and letting Octavia and Raven and Monty and Jasper bitch at her when she ordered them a little too far. She was very, very happy avoiding talking to her mom, who always brought up how cute she and Bellamy would be if they got married and had little babies. Hasn’t she always told Clarke how much she would love a baby?

“See,” Clarke mutters, holding a wire into place while Raven fiddles with the other end. “This is why I liked the Ark. On the Ark, you had to ask to have a baby. How come my fucking birth control chip was ruined when we came down from orbit? This is bullshit.”

“Take it up with The Man,” Raven snaps, leaning back once she’s finished and wiping her hands off on a shirt that looks suspiciously like Wick’s. “Why do you always come bug me when I work? Do I bug you when you’re setting bones?”

Clarke straightens her back, but doesn’t meet Raven’s eyes. “Well, you’re my uh, my best friend. Who else would I talk to?”

Raven’s lips purse and she rolls her eyes, but doesn’t complain as Clarke continues on, “I mean, Bell’s going to be a good dad, that’s a given. At least for the first twelve years, maybe ten. I’ll probably take over some time around then, just ‘cuz he’s a little ‘shoot first, ask questions never’ kind of guy. I love him, but. I want my kid to be a little level headed.”

“You’re so level headed,” Raven nods sagely, like maybe Clarke can’t hear the sarcasm. She can. If Raven ever has kids, they’ll definitely be smartasses. Clarke looks forward to it.

They’re silent for a while longer, aside from Raven’s occasionally swears at whatever she’s working on. Clarke likes sitting in on Raven working, even if it annoys the other girl. It’s interesting, to see her take nothing and make it into something. She’s so serious and proud of her work that it makes _Clarke_ proud, even though she doesn’t understand it half the time. Clarke figures if her kid grows up knowing Raven, then it’ll be pretty good. Probably. Raven did some crazy shit, she’s been told.

\--

Clarke frowns, pushing her face into her pillow as Bellamy breathes his sick morning breath in her face, like he was the one heaving and dying over a bucket ten minutes ago. The asshole hadn’t even woken up, had just muttered for her to be quiet.

His arm is too warm where it rests on her bare skin, despite the chill in the air outside their bed. His breath is hot and smelly and Clarke’s hair was wet when she went to bed and never really dried properly, so it’s stuck to her neck and shoulders. She thinks about cutting it off, then about cutting Bellamy’s arm off, and maybe just sewing his mouth shut. Why is she sleeping with a mouth breather?

With a groan, she tosses the blanket off herself and sits up, shivering as the cool air dries the sweat on her naked skin. She never used to sleep naked, but all of a sudden she gets too damn hot at night and since _she’s_ sleeping naked, Bellamy thinks he has to, too, so he snaps, “‘s fuggen _cold,”_ at Clarke. Like this is _her fault._

“Deal with it,” Clarke says, sighing as she cools down. She hates pregnancy, would probably like it if she had small boobs because hers are massive and she’s basically skipped the part where she slowly grows a belly and has, now at three(ish) months, a fucking _giant_ belly (“Twins?” Monroe asks through bites of chicken.). She hates her life. She still has to tell her mom.

Bellamy is still sighing and whining like a little baby, trying to tug the blankets out of her grip. But if Clarke had to suffer, so does he. Eventually he just shuffles closer and curls himself around her, still disgustingly warm. Hazy sunlight begins to drift into their tent. Clarke slept probably four hours last night. “Why couldn’t you get pregnant?”

“Asks the doctor,” Bellamy mumbles into her side, hand curled right under her belly. His thumb strokes the swollen skin, right over a damn stretch mark. “Wanna fool around?”

Clarke considers it. The last time they fooled around, Clarke threw up half way through it. However, she did just empty her stomach not that long ago, so she could probably handle some stuff. Some one-sided stuff. If Bellamy was the one giving. “I _have_ had an itch that I just couldn’t scratch,” she says loftily, allows herself to be pulled down.

Bellamy’s amused face looms over hers. “Nice line,” he breathes (thankfully) into her skin, pressing his mouth lower and lower until she forgets to tell him off.

\--

“Don’t--” Octavia’s mouth is a stern line, her eyes hard and her jaw tight. She clenches her fists at her sides, and Clarke is suddenly very glad nobody is in the medical tent. “Don’t hurt him. I know that you aren’t--that this wasn’t your plan, or whatever, but he’s excited and he’s so happy. He’s wanted a family his entire life so don’t _ruin this_ for him.”

Clarke’s own jaw clenches, but it’s more to keep her chin from wobbling as Octavia’s words hit her. She hasn’t...she’s been kind of shitty, she knows. Hasn’t hidden her disdain from anyone, but. But she hadn’t meant to hurt Bellamy. That was never her intention.

Meeting O’s eyes, Clarke nods. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt him. I...I’m just adjusting, but I’ll be better, I promise, O.”

The girl looks away, lips turned up slightly. “Good. I’m glad we had this talk.”

\--

Abby steeples her fingers together and rests her chin on them, giving Clarke the thousand yard stare. “Really? You waited until you were five months along to tell me?”

In Clarke’s defense, there have not been many opportunities to tell Abby. And Camp Jaha is an hour away. Clarke’s ankles are swollen. Bellamy refuses to carry her. They were at an impasse. “Sorry?” Is all she says. Kane shakes his head. Abby looks less than pleased.

“How do I know you’re being properly taken care of?” She sounds exasperated, and this is exactly what Clarke wanted to avoid. Her mom could be _so bossy_.

“I’m _fiiiine,”_ Clarke waves a hand at her, while Bellamy digs his nails into her hand. Baby. “I’m a doctor, mom. I know what to do.”

Abby sighs, like she’s been burdened with the most rebellious, no good daughter the world could have given her. And in CLarke’s defense, she was pretty good up until her eighteenth year. It’s the ground that brought out the Abby in her, really.

“Mom,” Clarke placates, putting her hand on Abby’s. “I’m fine. We’re good.”

Abby sighs, and little tears drip from her eyes. “Oh _Clarke,”_ she sobs, sounding like a fucking _lunatic,_ all smiling and crying like--god, _mom_ \--grabbing Clarke up and holding her tight. “You don’t even _like kids!”_

Doesn’t Clarke fuckin’ know.

\--

“I’ll like our kid,” she reassures Bellamy one night as he presses his face against her stomach. He’s drunker than she’s seen him in a while, all flushed and cute looking. It’s Miller’s birthday and she’d had to drag Bellamy away from the others before he made a scene. “I promise.”

She pushes her hand through his hair, teasing the knots out as gently as she can. She really loves the big doofus. She feels his wet eyelashes blink against her belly and her own chin wobbles. Stupid hormones. Stupid Bellamy. Stupid Clarke not liking kids and not being afraid to let everyone know how much her pregnant ass doesn’t like kids. Sometimes she’s an asshole without realizing it.

“I just,” Bellamy begins but stops, clearing his throat so he can continue. “I just want you to be happy about this. I need you to want it.”

And Clarke...she does. The months stretch on and her stomach grows wider and she begins to feel kicks and hiccups and other stuff, like maternal fucking instinct and she knows she’ll love this kid, if only because it’s part of Bellamy and she loves him a lot. It’s...well it’s the parts of her that the kid will no doubt have that leave her worried and wondering late at night.

Clarke heals people, but she also kills them. Maybe not purposefully, but Clarke is hateful and mean and would do a lot of things that aren’t good. She thinks about hating Wells and never listening to him. She thinks of the way Finn’s breath had felt against her shoulder as she’d tried to give him an easy way out, as she killed the boy she loved. She thinks about Murphy’s face when they hung him up to die.

Bellamy isn’t a good person, but he tries to be. Clarke is a good person who does really, really terrible things. She hopes her kid learns from their shitty mistakes. She hopes that she is good enough.

“I do,” she whispers, leaning down to press her own shaking lips to Bellamy’s head. “I do.”

\--

“Lincoln says it’ll help with the marks,” Octavia says, smoothing the thick, odd smelling cream against Clarke’s huge stomach. Raven wrinkles her nose at the smell, and Clarke is sure she hears the girl mutter something about _how can you fix all those marks,_ but she chooses to ignore it. Raven brought her food and Octavia brought her miracle cream, apparently.

\--

“You’re such,” Clarke’s voice is heated, just like the rest of her. “Such a good kisser. My word, I could kiss you all-- _day,”_ Clarke lets out a sigh when Bellamy pulls away from her, smirking. She likes that, too. Her stomach twinges slightly, and she shifts her position on Bellamy’s lap. Just her luck she’s getting some and she gets cramps.

“Well, you could learn from me then,” Bellamy says flippantly, and _hell no._ Clarke grabs the back of his head and is about to show him just how _good_ a kisser she is when she pisses herself.

Or rather, her water breaks all over their bed and Bellamy. He is _not_ pleased.

\--

“Come on, Princess,” Bellamy laughs, even though this was far from a laughing matter, “you’re doing great!”

Clarke is infinitely glad her mother had decided to visit that week, probably because she knew this would happen. Her mom was good like that. Now, Abby looks up from between Clarke’s legs, Jackson on her left helping, “Keep pushing, Clarke. Just a little bit more.”

Easy for them to say. Nobody thought to bring anything to numb her fucking lady parts and she’s pretty sure she’d rather get shot, because _holy fucking shit_ this is painful. Clarke lets out a shriek as she stretches more, tears dripping down her face. On her left, Raven squeezes her hand painfully tight, “You’ve got this,” she coaxes in Clarke’s ear, excited. Clarke is excited too, probably, underneath all the sweat and and tears. Most of them are Bellamy’s, big fat ones that drip onto her shoulder. At least Raven is being subtle about it, but well, it’s not her kid coming out and she’s only there because Clarke would kill Bellamy without a buffer. Especially since he keeps calling her princess.

“Shut up,” Clarke snaps when he says it again. She tries to sound menacing but it comes out more of a sob and a scream. She really is terrible at this shit. Clarke is nearly sure she isn’t going to be able to do it when the pain intensifies quickly, before slowly dying down.

For a moment, there is silence. And Clarke is filled with horror because she knows what silence after birth is like and it’s usually--

A loud wail fills the room, and Clarke begins to sob again, chin touching her chest as she sags in relief. Bellamy’s laughter fills her ears, a loud whoop to compete with their kid’s piercing cry. Raven rubs Clarke’s shoulders, laughing too.

“What’s her name?” Abby asks through tears, and Clarke and Bellamy choke out a simultaneous “fuck,” because of course they forgot to pick out a damn name.

\--

“Rhea?” Clarke asks, looking down at the little girl in her arms. Bellamy’s voice had broken when he saw her, said that she had his dad’s eyes, but Clarke never knew the man and all she can see in their daughter is Bellamy and Octavia. Clarke hopes she has her eyes though. Clarke has awesome eyes.

Bellamy shrugs against her, watching the baby sleep over Clarke’s shoulder. “It’s uh, it’s from Greek Mythology. It means “ground” and uh, also “to flow” but I’m mostly focusing on the ground part. I just think it’s fitting.”

Clarke’s lips turn up as Rhea yawns wide, little fists tightening and moving. “I like it. But I get to pick the next one.”

Bellamy hums, but Clarke can feel his smile against her shoulder. So she’s eating her words, what _ever._ Her baby is too damn cute, and she can’t help but think what a little boy or another little girl would look like, too. Only...she’s probably going to wait a year or six. At least until she starts forgetting the pain of her _vag_ being ripped open.

Rhea settles, calm and sweet, and Clarke breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she smiles, turning to press her mouth to Bellamy’s cheek. “For this. For everything.”

“Sure thing, princess,” Bellamy kisses her back, and Clarke relaxes back into his comforting warmth, eyes slipping shut.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hate naming things. Anything. Animals, things, people. Christ.  
> Hopefully there will be other things from this universe!! Because I like domestic Bellarke and I enjoy writing Clarke.   
> Any responses would be awesome.


End file.
